Restituo Memoria
by Completely Different
Summary: Wendell Wilkins is living his dream life in Australia. But one day two strange patients appear at his practice- and suddenly he's plunged back into memories he didn't even know he had.
1. Chapter 1

Dental practices smell the same the world over.

Wendell Wilkins was sure of it. Whether it was the small practice of his youth, the one he'd worked in as a college student, or his own, here in Australia, they all had the same smell. It was that of metal, mint and rubber gloves.

Wendell quite liked it, to be honest. It was a clean and comfortable smell. But that didn't stop him from opening the window and allowing the sea breeze to blow in. It brought with it the scent of salt and the sound of laughter. Outside, he could see people riding the waves, even though it was early spring, and the air carried a slight chill.

Wendell loved that about Australia. No matter what the time, or the weather, people were always ready to go out and have a good time.

It was this undeniable spirit that had brought them there, of course. He and his wife had always been attracted to that Australian Spirit; strong and powerful, as free as the land it lives in. The way the people were comfortable in their own skin, and willing to enjoy themselves. It felt so different from England, with its miserable wet weather and stuffy buildings.

Wendell remembered when he'd first met Monica, back when he was just beginning to study dentistry himself. She was pretty and smart, and had a kind nature that appealed to him greatly. And, of course, she shared his love for the country down-under.

He could remember all the times they'd shared, discussing it. The memories seemed highlighted, stronger than all the rest, and the filled him with a contentment that Wendell knew came from the fulfillment of fate. Moments discussing Australia's culture, its animals, is geography….they'd always dreamed of visiting there. "Maybe, one day," he'd told her, "we'll go live there."

For years those dreams had been stashed away, hidden behind the worries and needs of everyday life. It had been just over a year ago when it had resurfaced, with full force. They suddenly decided to sell their home and practice in Britain, and move across the world, to live the life they'd always wanted.

And today, looking out the window at the beautiful coast stretching before him, Wendell didn't regret the choice in the least.

He was interrupted from his musings by a sound behind him. "Dr. Wilkins?" inquired Wendell's secretary. "There's a couple here to see you."

He turned around, grabbing his coat off the desk. "A couple? Do they have an appointment?"

The girl shook her head, black hair falling into her face. "No. I think they're tourists. Said it was an emergency."

Wendell nodded- they got tourists every so often. They came in for all sorts of things. Cavities, children with chipped teeth, accidents from various extreme sports…. "We can probably fit them in before our first appointment. Tell them I'll be there in a moment."

The girl exited. Wendell followed a few moments afterwards, having pulled on his coat, and promptly bumped into his wife. The apparatus in her hand fumbled, and nearly fell; they both caught it at the same time, gloved hands meeting.

"You should be more careful," Monica berated him, half joking. She was a pretty woman, despite the fact age was creeping up on her. She had straight brown hair, laced with a bit of grey and beautiful blue eyes that stunned Wendell to this day.

"It's _your _job to be careful," he told his wife with a smile. "Not mine. Oh, by the way- we have some surprise patients. Are either of the rooms ready?"

She nodded. "Just got room 1 all set up. I'll be in there in a few minutes; just have a few calls to make first."

She left; Wendell continued down the corridor into the waiting room. It was similar to the one they'd had in England, small and comfortable, with red carpet flooring and nice large armchairs to sit in. Two of them were now occupied by a young couple, about eighteen, maybe nineteen. They were probably taking a leap year before starting university.

The girl was short, with a head full of very bushy brown hair. Her face was pale, and she wore a nervous expression. Her hand was clenched around that of the boy in the chair besides her, a flaming red-head. Wendell's eyes locked on the entwined hands- the two were obviously together. A wave of protectiveness suddenly washed over him. Surely the boy was too old for her?

He shook himself mentally. This girl wasn't his daughter- it was no concern of his who she was dating. Besides, he had no reason to suspect this young man of anything. He looked like quite the decent fellow, actually.

"Hello," he greeted them cheerfully, although he still felt some anxiety towards the boy. "I'm Dr. Wilkins, one of the dentists here. I heard you had some trouble?"

The girl seemed too nervous to speak, so the boy spoke up for her. "Oh, yes…one of her teeth has been hurting a lot. We think it might be a- what do you call it? – a cavity." He spoke with a thick British accent, and Wendell could see why the secretary assumed they were tourists.

"Ah, no problem. I'll just take a look at it…..if you'll come with me." He waved them down the corridor, looking behind to make sure they were following. The boy was sticking very close to the girl, who looked faint. She obviously didn't like the dentists'. Throughout his career, Wendell had met many people who hated going to the dentist- just thought of it made them sick. They were creeped out by idea of people fiddling around in their mouths with strange instruments.

It was Wendell's job to reassure these people. However, it seemed the boy was doing that for him.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," Wendell heard the boy whisper to her. "You've done harder things than this….."

Wendell came to the operating room, and fumbled with the door knob. The conversation behind him had a furtive quality, and felt almost private. He tried to ignore it, but felt strangely drawn in. "But what if I don't? What if something goes wrong? Fixing is so much harder than-", she broke off suddenly.

"Don't worry," said Wendell. "I've been a dentist for over twenty years. If you do have a cavity, I can fix it in a jiffy, no problem." He smiled reassuringly at the two of them, although the girl didn't seem much consoled. He waved them into the room with a comforting smile. "Now, would you mind lying down on the seat? I'll need to have a look at your teeth."

She obliged, easing herself into the chair. Wendell moved busily around her- adjusting the chair's height, fixing the light, moving some instruments into a more suitable position. As he worked, he kept up a constant chatter, designed to put the girl at ease. "So, what are you names again? I don't think I caught them….just lie back, thanks…."

"I'm Ron," said the boy slowly. He was standing behind the chair, his hand in his pocket. He spoke with a strange deliberation. "Ron Weasley."

There was a pause. Then the girl said, "I'm Hermione Granger."

There was a strange silence that seemed to fill the room. Wendell paused, mirror in hand. Something felt very….odd. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. He didn't like the feeling, though, so he so he quickly returned to business, filling up the awkward silence with his voice. "Hermione, eh? That's pretty unique name. It comes from Shakespeare, I guess? My wife and I are pretty big fans of his, you know."

"Yeah," came the girl's voice from behind him, sounding, if possible, even more nervous. "So are my parents."

Something seemed off, and Wendell turned around quickly. He found the girl standing up, staring at him. In her hand was a stick, long and polished, which she was pointed at him. His brow furrowed, a strange suspicion building up. "What are you doing? Where did you get that stick from?"

She continued to hold the stick up, pointed directly at his chest. There was an unfathomable expression on her face. While there was still nervousness, there was also a determined look in her brown eyes. Despite the fact that all she had on her was a stick, Wendell felt a tinge of fear. He took an involuntary step backwards. Something was wrong. "Can you put that down, please?"

She raised it higher, and opened her mouth. Wendell flinched. Some deep part of his mind knew that despite its appearances, that piece of wood was dangerous. It occurred to him that he should shout for help. But his throat was dry, his lips clamped together.

"Ron," said the girl, Hermione. "If he moves when the spell hits, I might make a mistake…could you…."

Wendell noticed that the boy, Ron, who he'd forgotten about, had moved to block the door. He barely register that he, too, was brandishing a stick, before he heard him mutter something. A flash of light erupted from the wand. The next moment, Wendell felt his body stiffen, paralyzed.

Cold fear rushed into Wendell's mind. Who were these people? They'd frozen him, made him immobile. Tales he'd heard of alien abductions ran into his mind. He'd always pushed them away as pure fantasy. But now, seeing this girl, approaching him slowly, with a horrible look in her eyes, Wendell felt sure that they were real, and these _creatures _were going to do something horrible to him.

Now she was right in front of him. Her eyes bored into his; they were chocolate brown, the same deep colour as his own. What a strange thing to notice, Wendell reflected hysterically, when you're about to die.

Because that was, surely, what was going to happen. These were serial killers, kidnappers, aliens, some horrible creatures. And they were going to kill him.

"Restituo Memoria!" shouted the girl, and the world dissolved around him.

Everything fell away, turning into blackness. He felt as though he was rushing forward at great speed. Strange colours floated across his vision….they were forming shapes…..he strained forward; trying to make them out…they seemed…familiar?

Suddenly, everything slid into focus. He was in a hospital.

This is one of those stories that float around my head, but I never actually get around to writing. Finally, though, I've got it all written out. Most of the other chapters are written, just in need of editing.

Also, for those who couldn't work it out, 'Restituo Memoria' is Latin for 'Restore Memories'.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the reviews, alerts and favourites, guys! You're all awesome!

I'm not really happy with this chapter- I just can't seem to get it out right. But since it doesn't seem to want to be fixed, I figure its better out here than rotting on my hard-drive. At least here I might get some critique (which I love, by the way ;) ).

"Honey- she's beautiful."

The newborn baby girl was tiny, wrapped up in a small pink blanket. Her eyes were closed, having finally fallen asleep, tucked in mother's arms. Her skin was a pale red, and there was a lick of brown hair on her head, the same warm colour of her mother's. The way it was already standing up told him that it probably had his own hair's bushiness.

"A healthy baby," the doctor had told the beaming parents. "Cute, too. Congratulations!"

She wasn't just cute, Bruce thought. She was perfect. She was tiny and fragile, perfectly innocent, and completely _theirs. _Looking at the tiny form, he was sure there was something special about this girl. Something unique and magical about her.

"What do we want to name her?" Jean asked. Her voice was faint- she was still very tired- but there was genuine love in her voice.

Ah, yes. Naming. Bruce knew they should have thought about it earlier. And they had, sort of. But it was more an occasional throwing around of names, never anything serious. One of them might say, "I've always like the name Danielle," or, "Wouldn't Jane be sweet?" but it was just light musings. It had never really settled in that the name they choose would _belong _to their daughter. It would become her identity, the way she looked at herself. And now, looking at the new-born girl, none of the names they had thought about seemed right.

"How about Greek mythology?" he asked. "Maybe Aphrodite? So she could be beautiful, just like her mother."

His wife chuckled softly. "Aphrodite? Only if I wanted her to be completely vain." They were silent for a few moments, staring at their child. It was a peaceful silence, filled with the miracle of birth. Suddenly, she spoke again. "I always like Hermes. He was such a different god."

It was his turn to laugh. "Honey, Hermes was a _god. _You know, male?Our daughter is a girl."

"There are girl versions of the name Hermes," she teased him slightly. "Like,Hermina. Or Hermione from a Winter's Tale."

Bruce stared at her. Shakespeare? Why didn't he think of that? They loved Shakespeare, although Jean preferred tragedies, while he liked the comedies. And Hermione was a perfect character to name their girl after. Strong and intelligent. Just what he wanted his daughter to be.

"I like it. And Jean for the middle name, I think." His wife cocked an eyebrow at him. "What? It's not that unusual name kids after their parents."

She gave an eye roll, but Bruce thought she looked secretly pleased. "Fine. Hermione Jean Granger, it is."

The scene disappeared, and he felt himself drifting away. It was like a fast moving train- all blackness and speed, but occasionally he caught views of things, quick as a flash, except they were accompanied by sounds, smells and emotions....bumbling through the darkness of 1 am, trying to find a crying baby....the smiling faces of vaguely familiar friends....a great swelling of pride as a bushy-haired toddler said her first word; "Book!"

He felt himself slowing, the visions becoming more solid. Colours condensed, and sounds slid into focus. He found himself standing in a park.


	3. Chapter 3

"Daddy! Daddy! Look! I'm doing it!"

"Good job, sweety!" Bruce called out to his daughter. She was on the swings, her brown hair trailing behind her. She was pumping her legs in a rhythmic fashion, swaying back and forth. A large smile glowed on her face, and she swelled with pride.

Bruce remembered when he'd come home that evening. Hermione had stood there and _demanded _somebody teach her how to use the swings. "Everyone else at kindergarten could," she explained. "They thought it was weird that I couldn't!"

Bruce hadn't really had much choice but to take her out; Jean just didn't have the energy. She had caught a cold, and was so exhausted after the day at the practice that she had went to straight to bed. He had just had time to pop a casserole into the oven before his daughter had dragged him out the door.

The next half-hour had been spent on the swings in the near-by park. Bruce had sat on the swings, pumping his legs and arms, his little girl watching avidly, sucking it in. Like in all things, Hermione took it seriously.

He had been quite content to sit there, on the park bench, watching Hermione get the hang of i, starting off tentatively, but growing in confidence each minute. It was nice at the park, he decided, with a light breeze and the cool green of trees. Peaceful. He only wished he had remembered to bring a book along.

'Of course,' he mused, 'it would a bit useless now. I would hardly be able to read it.' The sunset had fallen quickly, and street-lights were already flickering on. He decided it was about time to go, and called out, asking Hermione where she put her things.

"By the sliddeeeee!" she laughed, still enjoying her swing. Bruce trudged over, trying to make out her school-bag in the darkness. Finally he found it, near the foot of the ladder, and had just grabbed it when a scream pierced the air.

"Hermione!" He shouted, and ran back to her fear clawed at him. She found her lying on the ground, staring dizzily up at him. He knelt down, pushing away panic. "Are you okay? Hermione?"

"I'm okay, Daddy," she said after a moment. "I fell off the swing, that's all. And a stick hurt me."

She brandished a little stick up at him, making it look ridiculously like a magic wand. He took it from her. "Does it hurt?"

"No….it just feels kind of- funny."

But Bruce was looking at the stick. It was hard to make out, but one part of it seemed darker than the rest, almost as though it was wet. He touched it gingerly, and brought it to his nose. He was swamped by a coppery scent. Blood.

She was bleeding. It couldn't be too serious though, because Hermione wasn't acting like she was hurt. But fear for his child still pounded in his chest; he fought to stay calm.

"Hermione," he said seriously. "Where did the stick hit you? Show me."

She showed him her arms, holding it out proudly. "Don't worry Dad, I'm alright…it doesn't hurt. But….oh."

She'd seen the blood, her eyes as wide as saucers. Hermione _hated _blood. He grabbed her arm, inspecting it. It wasn't that bloody- it must have been a shallow cut. Except…he couldn't find one. Her arm seemed completely undamaged.

Hermione still seemed frightened and nervous, but she still managed to speak. "I don't think I'm hurt Dad…my arm doesn't hurt. It feels fine."

And it looked fine, too. He couldn't find and cuts on her. She seemed completely undamaged.

"We better go home," he admitted. "I'll look over you there, but you do seem fine."

And the two of them left the park. Bruce looked back over his shoulder at the swing, which still moved lazily in the breeze. A strange feeling prickled at the back of his neck. If Hermione wasn't hurt, where did the blood come from?

The scene evaporated, but it was barely a moment until colours began to appear again. He was overwhelmed by the scent of pine needles as burning wood. He was sitting on comfortable cushions, and in his hand was the satisfying weight of a book.

He was in the familiar living room back in England. A tree, decked ornaments and golden tinsel stood in the corner, with piles of colourful presents stacked underneath. Jean had folded herself in an arm-chair, and was staring comfortably into the fire. A feeling of contentment swept over him.

There was movement at his feet. Hermione sat up, her bushy hair looking even messier than usual, mussed up from the floor. "This book is stupid."

"Oh?" Bruce asked, amused. "What's wrong with it?"

"It makes no sense," she said in a huff. "Why do all the people look weird? And how does his heart suddenly grow? It's impossible!"

"What exactly are you reading?" Jean asked, broken from her trance with the fire. She, too, looked amused, although slightly surprised that her little girl so vehemently disliked any book. At seven she was already an avid reader, always bringing home books from the library.

"It's called 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas'," Hermione told them, showing the cover. "It says it was written by a doctor, but I doubt it."

"Oh, I love that book!" Bruce exclaimed happily. He said it with absolute truth, having adored the story as a child, but it was partly to get a reaction out of his daughter. She didn't disappoint. Hermione stared at her father with a look of complete amazement and horror. "You like _that? _It's completely illogical!"

"It's magic," Jean told her daughter, who had crawled across the floor to her. She motioned Hermione over, and she crawled into Jean's lap. "The book's about the magic of Christmas, and of giving."

"Magic doesn't exist!"

Bruce laughed. "Of course it does! How else does Santa come down the chimney every year?"

Hermione stared at him. A quizzical expression was on her face- the one she got whenever there was an interesting puzzle she couldn't solve. "….well, I guess _Santa _has magic…."

"_Exactly," _Bruce told her happily, before the scene whipped away.

This was a fun bit to write, I've got to say. It also was a wonderful excuse to get Hermione to say 'magic doesn't exist!' (Yes, I'm a sucker for irony). The little Christmas scene was meant to be in there, until I found an old copy of 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas' and I was inspired.

Also, happy belated holidays, everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry about this, Mr. Granger," said the teacher, leading him down the halls.

"It's no problem, really," Bruce told her kindly, though he was fighting down both fear and annoyance. He'd gotten a call at the practice less than an hour ago, asking if either he or his wife could come pick Hermione up at school. "I just wish someone would explain what's going on. Is she hurt?"

The teacher shook her head, and stopped before a doorway. Bruce recognized it as Hermione's class room door. He could even a piece of work on display on the board outside the classroom, with writing he recognized as hers. "No, she didn't hurt anybody….she couldn't have done anything. It's just that all the kids say she's responsible for it, so it's probably best if you take her home."

"_What _couldn't she have done?"

"Well, I don't know how to explain it. I had left the classroom for a few minutes; I needed to pick something up from the office." She ran her hand through her hair. "When I came back, I found Hermione in the corner, crying. All the kids were covered in bright writing, saying stuff like 'meany' and 'idiot' on their heads."

Dr. Granger stared at her. "How long were you gone for?"

"Less than five minutes, really. There's no way she could have written all that in so little time- and I doubt they'd let her. No," she said, crossing her arms. "It's most likely they did it to themselves to get Hermione in trouble."

Bruce felt a pang in his heart. "Get her into trouble? Why?"

"Kids can be….mean, Dr Granger. You're daughter is very bright- I think they're jealous. It wouldn't be the first time someone's been bullied because they're smart."

Bruce stared at the teacher, anger rising in him. Bullying? His daughter was being bullied? Why the hell wasn't anything being done about it?

He pushed those words back down, though. This was not the time to get angry at the teacher. "Can I see her?"

When he entered the classroom, Hermione leapt from her desk and hugged him fiercely. Besides her, the room was deserted ("we sent everyone else outside"), so there was no embarrassment when she started sobbing into her dad's shoulder. "They were calling me mean names Daddy….I was angry…I didn't- didn't mean…"

"Ssssh, sweetie, it's okay, baby." Bruce cuddled his daughter, consoling her. "Everything's fine. You're not in trouble, and you're teacher is going to have a talk with all those children." He gave the teacher a stern look over Hermione's shoulder, and the lady just nodded.

The car ride back home was mainly silent, except for the occasional sound of Hermione sniffing. Dr. Granger was gripping the steering wheel fiercely, still angry at the thought that his daughter was being bullied. Hermione, however, misinterpreted this, thinking that her father was angry at _her. _

"Dad- I didn't mean to. Really, I didn't."

"Honey- don't worry. I know you didn't do anything."

"But Dad!" There was real hysteria in the little girl's voice. Bruce looked up at the mirror in alarm. The expression on Hermione's face was horrible. "I _did _do it. They were being mean to me, and I started feeling really weird. And then all the pens started flying around. And I was the one doing it!"

He stared at the girl's reflection in the mirror. Hermione seemed distraught, as though she actually believed what she was saying. But his little girl had never had much of an imagination; she was all facts and figures. She refused to watch cartoons because of how unbelievable they were. Her actually believing her story was completely unlike her.

So, the only thing he could think of was that she was trying to protect the other kids. He remembered grimly his own memories of school, and bullying. Hermione probably felt that if the other's thought she ratted on them, they'd be even more horrible. "Honey," he said sternly. "Don't worry. I know you didn't do anything. And I'll make sure the other kids are nicer to you."

"But!" she started, but her father broke in. "No. You don't need to cover for them, sweetie."

That night, when his wife made it home from the practice, he told her what had happened. Even though he'd calmed down somewhat in the hours since the incident, he found himself becoming angrier and angrier as he relayed the story. It was all Jean could do to stop him.

"I'm better with people than you," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll call the school tomorrow morning."

She did so the next day. When she came out of the study, she had a slightly confused look on her face. Bruce asked her curiously. "What did they say?"

"They said they'd try to stop any bullying going on, but…" She shook her head, brown hair falling around her face. "They they didn't know what I was talking about, when I mentioned the ink thing. They said nothing happened yesterday. They were under the impression that you took Hermione out for a doctor's appointment."

Mother and father stared at each other, in a mix of amazement and confusion. Bruce tried to work out what was wrong with the school. How could they forget what happened? Was this some sort of practical joke?

On the top of the stairs, Bruce saw a bushy haired girl watched her parents silently, with a nervous expression on her face. Her scared eyes seemed to remain with him, even as everything dissolved around him.

Jean's voice returned, drifting back into his ears. It was no longer confused, but was now tight with anxiety. "Bruce, I'm worried about Hermione."

He looked up from his book. Jean had muted the evening news. Her lips were pursed, and she was looking at him very seriously. "Why's that?"

She shook her head, and looked down at her lap. "It's just, she seems so lonely. I know her teacher says she has friends at school- but she never invites them over! She's always buried in a book or playing all alone in her room.

"I don't want her to be lonely."

Bruce got up, and walked to her side, sitting on the arm of her chair. "I don't want her to be lonely either….And she's not going to be. She's just a quiet little girl."

"Too quiet, I think sometimes."

Bruce smiled at her wife. "Listen, she only has one year left of primary school. Next year she'll be in Year 7, and she'll get to meet new friends. That's when I came out of my shell, you know. In the mean time, we'll have her invite more friends over."

Jean looked at him. "Okay."

Apologies to anybody not familiar with the British system- when children turn 11, they move up into year 7. Unless they're magical, of course.

Thanks for reading! More chapters, coming up- the next one is going to be fun.


End file.
